


The Visitor

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: The Adventures of Student!Jazz and Wizard!Prowl [1]
Category: Transformers - Aligned Continuity Family, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wizards, Attraction, Haunting, Horror, M/M, Magic, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-21 17:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17047463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: Jazz’d thought four deca-cycles housesitting for a rich mech who lived in the wilds outside the Taigan Heights, on the cusp of the Limbranite Tundra, had sounded like an easy gig, a good way to earn extra shanix during the summer term.





	The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as part of [October Writing Challenge 2018](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161692). Separating it out into its own series

Jazz’d thought four deca-cycles housesitting for a rich mech who lived in the wilds outside the Taigan Heights, on the cusp of the Limbranite Tundra, had sounded like an easy gig, a good way to earn extra shanix during the summer term. Security and cleaning were automated, same with energon delivery. All Jazz had to do was be a presence in the house, accept any deliveries, and make sure he was in from sunset to sunrise. That was it, and a healthy chunk of shanix’d find its way to his account at the end of the job. The agent who’d hired Jazz on behalf of the homeowner had explained his employer felt the house to be at higher risk during those times. Jazz figured he meant for break-ins. Anyway, Jazz would be able to practice as much and as late as he liked without bothering the neighbours and get a head start on studying for the second year of his degree. What he hadn’t counted on was how _quiet_ it would be.

Jazz got in a _lot_ of practice, just to fill the silence.

At first, he’d spent loads of time exploring the vast house, peeking into rooms that, while perfectly clean, didn’t seem to have seen use in centuries. After a couple of mega-cycles of that, the eerie stillness of the untouched rooms started to get to him, and Jazz retreated to the family wing of the house, where he’d been given a suite. The suite, with a sitting room, separate bedroom _with a balcony_ , and private washracks, had his dorm room beat by a mega-mile. Free use of the well-stocked kitchen, household library, oil baths, and the entertainment centre and the bar in the rec room only made it sweeter. Mech who owned the place had a fantastic collection of music and movies, filled with rares. Less than a deca-cycle in Jazz already had a long list of titles (public domain, thanks!) he was going to ask permission to copy.

When Jazz got the pieces he’d brought to practice on down he started trying to play some of the rare music pieces by audial. If he wasn’t allowed to copy them, he’d at least know how to play them. It filled the silence and made him feel less alone.

A little more than a deca-cycle in the silence was broken by the winds howling off the tundra. Coming from Altihex, Jazz was used to Cybertron’s polar winters but not to winds like this. They howled, they wailed, they whistled and cried in the corners of the house. More than once Jazz was sure he heard a voice outside, calling. A quick analysis of the sound said otherwise, but it freaked him out a little every time. Probably why he started to feel like someone was watching him, too.

Jazz stopped watching movies from the ‘horror’ and ‘suspense’ categories. The wind kept him up, and he was having enough trouble ‘charging anyway.

The weird sounds the wind made were why he didn’t respond to the knocks the first time. The second time they were louder and more deliberate. Someone was knocking at the terrace door off the dining room.

Jazz froze, then lunged for the nearest monitoring terminal for the household systems. There was a secure perimeter around the house. An alert should have sounded if a mech or mechanimal had breached it. Maybe he’d missed it, but – nope. There was no record of an alarm, and everything on the perimeter showed green. He tried the external security cameras and couldn’t bring up the ones that covered the terrace. The terminal said they worked, even though Jazz’s optics said otherwise.

More knocks. If there really were a mech out there, it was way too cold and windy to leave them outside. The house was pretty far from the road but not so much that someone needing help couldn’t see it. The cameras didn’t work so the security system might be glitching too.

Jazz was just stepping through the rec room door when he distinctly heard a voice say, in his left audial, “ _don’t_.”

Jazz froze again, every system leaping into ‘fight-or-flight’ mode.

 _Okay, mech, calm down,_ he told himself. _You ain’t been sleeping, and the sound of the wind is freaking you out. Going a little stir-crazy, that’s all._

He started for the terrace doors again and again heard, crystal clear in his left audial, “ _don’t_ ,” and ahead of him, the sound of knocking.

“Just gonna check,” he said, feeling silly talking to an empty room. “Not gonna open the door ‘less I think it’s safe.”

“ _No_.”

That sounded more like an agreement than a warning. Not that anyone was there to agree or warn to begin with…

Jazz overrode the dining room’s motion sensor so the lights would stay off. The terrace should be lit if someone were there and staying in a dark room would give him a primitive one-way glass. Jazz could see them but not the other way around.

The terrace wasn’t lit. Either the motion-sensors that triggered the lights were malfunctioning like the cameras, or…

Yup, no one was there.

“ _Primus_ ,” Jazz muttered in genuine relief. He must’ve heard something banging against the house – he’d check in the morning. Maybe he’d go for a drive too. Town was a bit far for him to be back before sunset but some road under his wheels would do him good.

Jazz shut his movie off and went to bed.

He was just about to drop off when it occurred to him that the home wasn’t set to darken the windows at sundown. Thanks to the house turning lights on and off as he entered and exited sectors, if someone _was_ outside watching, they knew exactly where he was.

Great.

He wasn’t going to get himself to sleep now. Jazz hated to do it because he wouldn’t feel as rested in the morning, but he overrode his autonomic systems and manually powered down. At least he wouldn’t dream.

***

Jazz raced down the empty highway, music at full volume. He sang along, letting the rush of freezing air over his alt-mode clear his mind. _This_ was what he needed! Mecha weren’t meant to spend so long cooped up by themselves. Between that and not ‘charging right, of course he was going stir-crazy.

After a few hours Jazz spotted a rest area, just the right spot to stop and stretch before heading back. He pulled in, transformed, and did just that, then stopped to look out over the road and the tundra. Idly, he thought about what kind of music would suit such a cold, stark land: maybe something low, sustained, with the harmony in a higher octave standing in for the wind. Jazz strolled along the perimeter of the area, humming as he looked out over the landscape. When he reached the end and turned around, he saw a figure standing on the tundra, maybe a half-mega-mile away.

For the second time in a mega-cycle, Jazz froze. That mech had _not_ been there before. He would have seen them approaching; the land was so flat and empty it was impossible _not_ to. The figure stood with their back to the sun, throwing them in silhouette, and held a rifle, pointed at the ground, in one hand. They were watching him. _Creepy_.

Jazz flipped back into alt and raced back to the house and safety. He played music to take his mind off the strange figure, but it didn’t work. He only felt safe once the property’s gates closed behind him.

***

Over the next few mega-cycles Jazz still made sure to get out every day, but used the driving paths on the estate, not the highway. It wasn’t as much fun: he couldn’t go a fast and the trails were made of gravel which he’d never liked driving on. No strange figures appeared out of nowhere, and nothing knocked at night. The feeling of being watched inside the house increased though. Jazz even felt like someone was following him sometimes. He put it down to being freaked out by the place and not sleeping well and made sure he was always playing or listening to something. It helped, some.

Then, one night, the wind picked up again, louder than ever. Jazz gave up trying to sleep in his suite and bunked down on a couch in the rec room. He kept the hallway and dining room doors closed to block the sound of the wind as best he could.

He couldn’t stop listening for knocks, though. Jazz gave in and manually powered down again. Seemed like that was the only way he’d get some rest.

Manual power-down would keep a mech out through just about anything. Jazz expected to sleep through the remainder of the long night. The sound of the house’s commsuite woke him after four cycles with a single ring. Jazz jerked awake, muzzy and trying to figure out what the noise was. When it didn’t come again, he relaxed back onto his pillow and tried to sleep again, without using a manual override. As he lay there, he slowly became _absolutely sure_ someone was sitting on the end of the couch, watching him.

 _No one’s there_ , he told himself firmly. _Just raise your head and look._

It took him a couple of nano-kliks, but he managed it. Just like he’d told himself, nothing was there. Jazz lay back down and shut off his optics.

A long, soft sigh sounded.

“ _Hungry._ ”

The _fucking couch cushions shifted_. It felt like someone had leaned over to get a better look at him. Jazz’s mind blanked from terror.

“ _Hungry. Dream? Feed_.”

Jazz flung himself off the couch and bolted for the nearest outside door, the one to the terrace. He scraped himself against the dining room doors when they didn’t open fast enough and slapped the control for the terrace doors so hard it chirped in protest, and he had to try again.

The night air was freezing, and the shock of it calmed him a bit. The terrace lights didn’t come on, a strangely detached processing thread noted. Everything else was spinning, trying to work out what the _fuck_ just happened because it couldn’t have been what he thought.

“ _Hungry?_ ” whined the voice from just inside the door. The dining room lights had turned off, automatically, when the house detected Jazz exiting the room. Whatever it was, it wasn’t tripping non-sapient sensors. “ _Hungry!_ ” it repeated angrily when Jazz didn’t move. “ _Feed!_ ”

Okay. Okay. Seemed like it couldn’t leave the house, whatever it was. But Jazz couldn’t survive forever _outside_ the house. His best instruments were in there too _and_ the tablet with all his textbooks on it. He couldn’t afford to leave any of it – not least because if he didn’t finish his housesitting contract he’d be nastily short on funds next year.

But, Holy Primus Below and all Thirteen, he _did not_ want to go back inside.

Then he remembered outside wasn’t safe either. The silhouette, the knocking. More practically, the wind that tore any semblance of heat away from his frame. There were outbuildings, gardener’s sheds and the like. Jazz didn’t have access codes to any of them, but maybe he could force one? Even a door propped shut would provide better protection than trying to recharge outside in alt. Problem was, the grounds were dark, and he didn’t know what else was out there.

Someone pinged his on-board commsuite, and he started. There shouldn’t have been anyone around. Murderers and supernatural entities didn’t send you a ping, he was pretty sure. Really, Jazz was happy to see _anyone_ then. He returned a cautious ping. A message came back, simple, with no markers for the glyphs.

‘ _I’m going to approach. Turn around._ ’

Jazz turned, hating the idea of having his back to the house. Someone _was_ approaching out of the darkness, rifle held at attention against their torso. The shape entered his visual range and resolved itself – Jazz’s height, chevron, door wings – into the silhouette he’d seen at the rest stop. Threat? Not a threat? Threats probably didn’t warn you they were approaching – unless they were sadistic. Jazz devoted a processing thread and a decent amount of memory to developing escape routes.

The mech stopped. “I’m not going to harm you.” The voice was cool, level, confident. “I’m here to help, but you must invite me into the house.”

“I – there’s a-a _thing_ in there…”

“I know. I’ve been hunting it a long time. Invite me into the house,” the mech repeated.

“Door’s open.” Jazz did not want to go back in, but this mystery mech was welcome to it.

“I can see that. Step through it and invite me.” A little more gently the mech added, “it can’t take from you while you’re awake. Go on.”

Well, he couldn’t stay out here, and he couldn’t ask anyone _else_ to, so…Jazz stepped into the house and gestured to the other mech to enter. “Please, come in.”

Manners were ingrained, and Jazz databurst his name, home, and pronouns to the other mech. The transmission he got in return was…odd. The name and pronouns were straightforward enough, but the home read ‘Cronum’ instead of ‘Nova Cronum’ and had strange markers he didn’t recognize. Jazz supposed if there was a ‘New Cronum’ there had to have originally been a plain ‘Cronum,’ but he’d never heard of it. Either the mech was hiding his origin, or he was unspeakably ancient.

“Thank you, Jazz,” Prowl said, stepping inside and lowering his rifle.

The lights came on, and Jazz got his first real look at his visitor. Stark black-and-white colour scheme, strong armour, stern features. The word ‘ascetic’ came to mind. His rifle was etched all over with glyphs and symbols. Jazz didn’t recognize them any more than he had the markers on ‘Cronum.’

“Is it still here?” Jazz asked. He hovered near the door while Prowl stalked the length of the room. It looked like Prowl was looking for something. Or, listening, maybe.

“Yes,” Prowl replied distantly. “It’s gone into hiding somewhere in the house though. It won’t be back tonight.”

“How can you tell?”

“I’ve been hunting this prey for a long time.”

“Okay, um…” Jazz was at a loss. “What now?”

“Engex, silicon wafers, and sodium chloride.” Prowl ‘spaced his rifle and added as an afterthought, “please.”

“Uh – “ What the hell, Jazz could use a drink too. “Sure. I’ll – I’ll be right back.”

When Jazz came back from the kitchen, food and drink on a little tray, Prowl had a map Jazz was pretty sure was of the moons’ orbits spread out over the table. Four round little silvery weights, a symbol in the centre of each, held down the corners and prevented the flex-metal from rolling up. Jazz set the tray off to the side, well clear of the map but within Prowl’s reach.

“My thanks,” Prowl said. He ignored Jazz for a moment, crunching silicon and sodium and chasing them with Engex. “Have you been here for a full lunar cycle?”

“Which one?”

Prowl sighed. “Any of them. I realize this is probably your first encounter with an actual _wight_ – “

“A what?”

Prowl pinched the bridge of his nose. “How can you be this badly thrown? Didn’t your master teach you to center?”

Jazz was completely lost. “Listen, mech, I don’t have a master, and I've got no idea what you mean by ‘wight.’ I got hired to housesit, that’s all. Moons and wights and voices out of nowhere weren’t part of the deal!”

Prowl’s head jerked up, and his intensely blue optics bored into Jazz’s. “You’re no apprentice, but it spoke to you?” He rounded the table and approached Jazz. “Let me see your hands.”

Jazz quickly set his cube down and held his hands out, starting to think humouring Prowl was best until daylight came, and he could find a way out. Or until he could call for help and get some cops out here. His own commsuite wasn’t strong enough, he’d have to use the house’s.

Prowl grasped his hands and studied them intently, turning them to catch the light in different ways.

“Musician,” Prowl muttered. “Huh. That explains it.”

“Explains _what_?”

“Why I mistook you for an apprentice. My apologies.” Prowl looked up at him again. He did not let go of Jazz’s hands. “Did you have callus mods installed, or develop them naturally from playing?”

“Developed them from playing,” Jazz replied warily. “Can’t afford mods. Why?”

“I wanted to know what kind of pain you’re not afraid of.” Prowl looked back at Jazz’s hands, running the pad of his thumb over the calluses. For some reason, that felt too intimate, and Jazz finally pulled his hands away. “What kind you endured to learn your art.”

Jazz took a step back. “Okay, Prowl, listen, don’t think I ain’t grateful for you scaring that thing – “

“Wight.”

“– yeah, that wight off but having a total stranger talk about what kind of pain I can take kinda freaks me out. So…”

“Oh.” Prowl took a step back. “Of course. Please, forgive me for disturbing you.”

“Sure, yeah, forgiven. Just, can you please explain,” Jazz made a gesture meant to indicate the voice, the moons, Prowl, the thing with his hands, “everything?”

“Yes, of course. It’s the least you deserve.” Prowl looked, briefly, wistful and it eased the sternness of his face. “Sometimes I forget how _young_ you all are, how you’ve never known a world with the darker things I’ve hunted. I’ll explain everything but first,” he nodded at Jazz’s Engex, “you may want more of that.”

Jazz picked up the tray with wafers and cubes of sodium. “Let’s just…go to the bar.”

Sitting at the bar with a decanter of whiskey and two glasses between them felt bizarrely normal. Normal went right out the window when Prowl explained that he was an ancient wizard hunting down preternatural creatures that preyed on Cybertronians. The wight he was searching for fed on dreams and was only vulnerable to Prowl’s magic at this time of year. It was weakest when Luna 2 was in ascendance – whatever that meant – over the southern polar region but was cunning enough to hide in a house. Prowl could have entered the house uninvited but without permission to enter he wouldn’t have had permission to use magic to the extent he’d need. Jazz, who was a proxy for the actual homeowner, giving him Engex, silicon, and sodium had symbolically solidified his guest-right and removed any remaining limiters on his power.

“So,” Jazz said slowly, both confused and slightly tipsy by the time he’d pried all that out of Prowl, “the house has some kind of dream-eating demon, and you’re here to kill it with magic?”

“It’s not a demon; the demons were locked away by Primus,” Prowl reassured him. “Otherwise, yes.”

Jazz stared at him for a long couple of kliks, then buried his face in his hands in disbelief. “I just wanted a summer job. You know, the normal, wight-free kind?”

“I don’t,” Prowl replied truthfully. Jazz raised his head to see Prowl gazing thoughtfully into the hallway. “This has been my entire function, for millennia now. The wight in this house is the last of my quarry, though. I’ll have to adapt to your normal very soon.”

“I – “ Jazz didn’t know if he should offer congratulations or sympathy.

“I’m very curious to see what it will be like,” Prowl continued. “Although, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’ve no musical talent, and I’ve always found that the closest thing to magic that’s left. That’s why I mistook you for an apprentice, even though it’s been many centuries since I’ve known of anyone able to take one.”

Jazz got the feeling there might’ve been an element of hope there, too. Prowl probably didn’t want to be the last of his kind. “I’m sorry?” Jazz offered.

Prowl shook his head. “No need. It’s the nature of things to change. I’ve known this was coming for some time. Still,” he stood up, “I have preparations to make. The wight won’t attempt to feed while I’m here. I suggest you find a sanctuary and get some sleep: I’ll have you assist me tomorrow. There’s a lot of property to cleanse here.”

“There are guest rooms on the second floor. Take any of them.” Jazz didn’t think he could try to sleep on the couch again and his suite was the closest thing to a sanctuary he had. “Anything you need before I head out?”

“Just a well-rested assistant.”

Jazz took the hint and said goodnight.

***

Prowl wasn’t kidding when he said there was a lot of property to cleanse – whatever that meant. Jazz was still working on ‘magic is real’ and ‘something wants to eat your dreams.’ He was pretty sure Prowl was doing something, somehow, to manipulate energy but he didn’t even try to work out what it was. It took them, walking slowly, most of the daylight hours, to ‘cleanse and establish’ the perimeter. Jazz started out tense but, since most of his work was to carry small medallions Prowl occasionally nailed to the ground and to hold the lunar orbit map when Prowl consulted it, eventually got bored. Without thinking he began to hum.

Prowl stopped suddenly and turned to him. Automatically, Jazz held out the map.

“No,” Prowl shook his head. “Not that. That song – where did you hear it?”

“Hm? Oh.” Jazz replayed the last klik or so of his short-term memory log. “That’s just – I was thinking about what’d suit the tundra, music-wise. That’s all. Sorry.”

Prowl _actually smiled_. It was slight, but there. “Don’t be. Continue, if it pleases you.”

Alright. Better than thinking about dream-eating wights, anyway. Jazz shrugged and kept humming and working on the piece in his head while he followed Prowl.

“What now?” Jazz asked when they were finally finished with the perimeter, ending at the gates where they had begun. Prowl took his map back and ‘spaced it.

“Now, we refuel and rest. The wight is contained within the property. I require eight cycles to recover, then I’ll draw in the perimeter to contain it within the house.”

“’Contain it within the house,’” Jazz repeated slowly. “With _us_.”

Prowl shrugged and started up the path to the house. Jazz couldn’t believe the mech was still walking, instead of driving. “It isn’t corporeal. Unless you’re dreaming it can’t do anything beyond shout at you and scare you, perhaps throw a small object or two. Frightening, but ultimately harmless.”

“Doesn’t feel harmless when it’s happening.”

“I can’t remember the last time I was afraid.” Prowl said unexpectedly. “It’s surprising it hasn’t gotten me killed yet. Fear can give you an edge if you don’t let it overwhelm you. Fear keeps you alive. Remember that, Jazz.”

“Believe me, this house gives me plenty of edge,” Jazz said drily. “What’s gonna happen after you’ve got it contained in the house?”

“I draw it to a single room and banish it. Hopefully, I can manage this without requiring another rest session.” Prowl walked in silence for a moment. “Magic is nearly faded, Jazz. Once I could have banished a wight in a single step. In a way, it’s good that this is the last one.”

“Will you miss it?” Jazz asked.

“Perhaps. I’ve done this for a long, long time and I’ve been alone for much of it. I think this may be the most conversation I’ve had with another mech in centuries.”

Jazz wasn’t surprised.

They refuelled together in silence. Jazz couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked so much and was just grateful to sit and rest his aching feet. Didn’t have that problem with wheels.

“I’ve gotta practice,” Jazz said when they were done with their energon. “Is there anything you need while I’m doing that?”

Prowl looked – hopeful? Hard to tell: he wasn’t the most expressive mech. “May I join you? It isn’t often I’m able to hear music.”

Jazz always had liked to play for an audience. “Sure.”

Jazz had been using the sitting room in his suite to practice in. Virtually every seat in the room was covered in instruments, printouts, or sheet music. Prowl wordlessly took a place on the floor, out of the way, looking for all the world like he was going to meditate. Jazz picked his upright bass because, played with a bow, it would work better for what he had in mind for his tundra song. It was always a good idea to read your audience and Prowl had liked that one.

Jazz played for an entire cycle. Prowl was a silent, attentive, audience. Whenever Jazz glanced his way, he was watching Jazz play with utter fascination. Most of the time Prowl’s attention was on Jazz’s hands yet the last time Jazz looked up before he finished playing, it was on his face. Prowl was looking at him with an intensity Jazz had rarely seen, and never on someone he’d just met. When he finished playing, Prowl was still looking at him with that same intensity, the same fascination.

“Prowl…” Jazz tried then trailed off.

“Nothing happens unless you want it to,” Prowl said calmly, “and not until the wight is destroyed and your mind is clear.”

“Right.” Jazz gave himself a mental shake. “Of course.”

Prowl got to his feet. “Reassurance never hurts. Thank you for playing for me, Jazz. You don’t have to sleep, but I suggest you get some rest.”

“Yeah. Okay. See you soon.”

***

Nearly seven cycles later, Prowl messaged Jazz to come down to the rec room. Jazz supposed that made sense; it was the central-most room and probably your best bet if you were eventually going to pull a perimeter in. You could exert nearly an equal amount of effort in each direction.

“What do you need me to do?” Jazz asked when he arrived. Prowl had pushed some of the chairs back to clear more space and set out a ring of solid silver pieces, big enough to contain them both if they were close together.

“Just stand behind me. It will ensure your safety.”

Jazz got into place behind Prowl, making sure every part of him was inside the circle since that seemed important. “Safe from the wight?”

“Safe from anything that might show up. It should not happen, nothing is left to threaten us, but,” Prowl shrugged, “habit dies hard and ignoring a precaution inevitably puts one at risk. I won’t let harm come to you. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Very well.”

As with the perimeter, Jazz couldn’t see what Prowl was doing even though he could certainly _feel_ it.

There was no mistaking when the wight was drawn into the room: even if it hadn’t been shrieking the very air felt thicker. Prowl was speaking now, in a language Jazz didn’t recognize, a calm counterpoint to the wight’s fear and rage. Jazz focused on the sound of Prowl’s voice, trying to ignore the way it felt like he was standing in the middle of a small, intense, storm.

He wasn’t sure if the storm were the wight or Prowl.

The shrieking rose to a painful pitch – Jazz would have to recalibrate his audials if it didn’t _stop_ – as the wight screamed and screamed and _begged_. Jazz swore he was going to hear its pleas in his dreams for solar-cycles to come. He thought he heard his name and shuddered.

Prowl raised his voice and spoke a single word and –

“It’s done,” Prowl said, turning to Jazz. Jazz could feel the change in the room’s energy. Checking his chronometer, Jazz was startled to see how much time had passed. It hadn’t _felt_ like cycles. “How are you?”

Jazz ran a brief systems check. “Fine. You? I mean, that was – you’re done now, aren’t you?” He meant the ritual, the hunt – everything. Fortunately, Prowl seemed to understand.

“Yes,” Prowl said, not meaning just with the wight. “I am. I don’t know what happens now.”

“Want to stay for a bit and think it over?” Jazz offered. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted – he sure didn’t have the clear head Prowl had mandated – but he did know he didn’t want to be alone. Maybe Prowl didn’t either.

Prowl traced the sides of Jazz’s hands with his fingertips. “Will you play for me again?”

“Yeah.” Jazz lightly gripped Prowl’s hands. “I will.”

“Then yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> You would not believe the time I had talking myself out of calling this 'The Wight Stuff'.  
> \---  
> The southernmost location I could find a sunrise/sunset calculator for was Auckland, New Zealand. I used the [NOAA Solar Calculator](https://www.esrl.noaa.gov/gmd/grad/solcalc/) and gave it the summer date of June 20, 2018. It gave the Apparent Sunrise as 7:33 and the Apparent Sunset as 17:11. That gives 9.78 hours of daylight and 14.22 hours of night. I divided 14.22 by 24 and multiplied that by 100 to get 59.25% or the percentage of the total day cycle that is nighttime. On the Cybertronian time-scale I’m using, a mega-cycle (day) is 93 hours and a cycle (hour) is 1.25 hours. 59.25% of 93 is 55.10 and 55.10 / 1.25 gives a total nighttime of 44.08 cycles.
> 
> There’s an episode of Hammer House of Horror where giving a warlock bread, wine, and salt in your home gives them power within the home. I borrowed it and substituted silicon and Engex in for basic sustenance and wine respectively. (It's undoubtedly not from the series but that's where I remember it from.)


End file.
